


Jacks Are Wild

by Chainthatbinds (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:11:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Chainthatbinds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean get hit by curses (surprise, surprise) and have to turn to an interesting source for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jacks Are Wild

The Winchesters had always managed to get into trouble when they were supposed to be resolving it. This case was no different. While chasing down a demon, Sam and Dean ended up in a suburban neighborhood. It hadn't even crossed their minds that part of the reason the demon had stayed in the area was because they had worshippers nearby. While investigating, they'd walked right up to a witch and asked her about her master.

While driving later that day, Dean noticed that Sam was looking under the weather. Really dark circles quickly formed under his eyes and he just looked like all the energy was sapped out of him. When his head slumped to one side, Dean brought the back of his hand to Sam's forehead. “Lookin' a little green around the gills, Sammy.” His skin was freezing.

Sam managed to turn towards his brother. He seemed to barely be conscious. “I dun feel s'well Dean...”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, no kiddin'. Just sit back and relax. Try not to fall asleep 'til we figure out what you got whammied with.” Sam said something else but his words were so slurred that Dean couldn't make it out. Dean sighed. He wanted to call Bobby but he knew, with them being in Maryland, his best bet was with their favorite angel.

Not looking away from the road, he started to pray aloud. “Cas, we got a problem. Kinda need your ass down here.” After a minute of no response, Dean grabbed the wheel tight and gnashed his teeth. “Dear Castiel... he who is apparently too damn busy to...” He shook his head and hit his palm against the dashboard and tried again. “Look, I get it, Cas. You got a war goin' on up there but I'm pretty sure Sam is dying down here and-”

“I'm here, Dean.”

Dean would've been relieved if he hadn't almost ran them off the road from being startled. “Jesus, man! We really need to get you a bell!” In the review mirror, he could tell that Cas didn't know what the purpose of the bell would be and, more importantly, he didn't care. “We were after a demon and I think he got zapped.”

Castiel only glanced at Sam for a second before turning his gaze back to Dean's. “He's been cursed by a witch.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.”

“So are you.”

The hunter had to resist the urge to slam his foot on the brake. “Goddamn witches. Why am I not all messed up like Sam, then?”

Cas' eyes narrowed. “They are two different spells so your symptoms would be different.”

“Perfect.” Dean spat out. “Can you just take it off?”

Cas was lost in thought for a moment. “I can heal the damage that's been done to Sam's body and possibly slow any subsequent harm but I don't know how to end the spell.”

“Are you serious?!”

Cas huffed in irritation. “I'm an angel, Dean. I'm not omniscient.”

Dean was pulling into the motel parking lot. “Well can you put him down in room 210 and lay your mojo on him? I'll be up in a minute.”

Castiel's jaw set and his eyes angrily stared back at Dean but he and Sam vanished from the interior of the Impala without a word. Now alone in the car, he pulled out one of their cellphones and gave Bobby a call.

“Yeah?”

Dean was really loving how no one seemed to greet him properly anymore. “Hey. Sam 'n I got hit by curses while tracking down the demon. Sam's not doin' too good but Cas is gonna try and keep him stable.”

Bobby cursed on the other side of the phone. “Promise me that one of these damn days you and your brother'll learn how t' kill somethin' without gettin' yerfself killed in the process.”

Dean grinned into the phone. “Yeah, it's on my bucket-list.” Bobby grunted in response to the horrible joke. “Anyway, Cas says he can't break it. Need you to find a reversal.”

“Yeah, lemme just cure cancer while I'm at it. It ain't that simple, boy. There's pretty much a spell for everything and sometimes there's more than one spell that does the same thing. Each's got it's own way to get removed.”

The air shot out of Dean's lungs like he'd got hit in the chest. “Great, Bobby, just perfect. So what the hell am I supposed to do about it? I mean Sam's half dead upstairs right now and who knows what's gonna happen to me once whatever I got hit with starts workin'!”

There was a short silence before Bobby spoke up. “You're still feelin' fine right now?”

Dean checked in with his body. Everything seemed fine. So far, it was just a normal, slightly warmer than usual day. “Nope. I'm good.”

“Good. I gotta idea. It's a long shot but it's the best and quickest solution I can think of.”

Dean got out of the Impala and leaned up against its side. “I'm all ears.”

~

Bobby really was a genius. He would've been the only one to come up with a plan like what he'd proposed. Dean wasn't exactly happy about it but he knew they were working on borrowed time so he had to move on to the desperate measures that came with desperate times. He went up to the room shortly after, grabbed Sam (which was a relief to Castiel, who had a war to continue waging) and hit the road.

Singer had been keeping tabs on the guy for about a year but he didn't have an exact location, just a city: Wilmington, Delaware. After a few hours of driving, a couple hundred dollars worth of bribing and leaving a half dozen bars as dry as he'd entered them, Dean saw his mark in the corner of an Irish Pub. He'd practically kicked himself for not checking the place first.

Patrick, the he-witch that had turned the older Winchester brother from a thirty-year-old into an octogenarian after a few hands of poker, saw Dean coming towards him. He instantly excused himself from the man and woman Dean assumed the old Irish witch was conning and met him in the center of the place. His smile was mischievous but his eyes were cold and angry. “I'm guessin' this isn't a coincidence. In which case, ya gotta lot of nerve bein' anywhere near me, Dean Winchester.”

“Easy there, tiger,” Dean put his hands up as a sign of peace, “I'm not here to fight you. I'm here to ask for help.”

Patrick's eyebrows rise in shock and inquired in his Irish accent that had weakened after being in the states for who knows how long. “You? Askin' me for help? After all the trouble you brought me the last time I saw you?”

“You want a sorry or somethin'?” Dean was impatient. With Sam not being healed by Cas, he didn't have time for pride or any witty back-and-forth with Patrick. “Look, my brother is out in my car dyin' from some damn curse or hex that some bitch dropped on us. We didn't get along last time but you said you liked Sam. Just help him and gimme some kind hint on what's inside of me, waiting to pop out and I'll get outta your hair.”

Patrick looked him up and down. “You're right, I did like Sam. If the magic I'm smellin' on you is a clue to what's ailing your brother, he'll need me.” He pulled out a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “I won't do this for free. I'll save your brother but then you and I are gonna play a game or two.”

Dean squared back his shoulders. “No way! I'm not betting any more of my years in your damn fuckin' game of Texas Hold 'Em.”

Patrick chewed on the piece of wood. “Just a friendly game then until one of us is out of chips.” He smirked after giving Dean another once over with his eyes. “If you win, I might even get rid of the spell on you, too.”

Dean could practically taste the fact that Patrick was up to something. It didn't matter, though. The guy may have been a damn good card shark but Dean was pretty damn good at getting himself out of trouble when he stepped in it.

Patrick and Dean went to the Impala to check on Sam. He was looking much worse than when Dean had left him. Patrick didn't waste any time. He leaned forward and whispered words into Sam's ear. He did this for over five minutes. Every few seconds that passed, Dean's little brother seemed to be looking better. It was a relief that Patrick was holding up his end of the bargain. He knew the guy wasn't evil like most of the black magic users he'd come in contact with over the years. He'd just always automatically distrust witches.

Patrick pulled back and looked at Dean. “He's safe now. Just leave 'em here to sleep it off while we play our little game.”

Dean shook his head. “I'm not gonna leave him here to fry under the sun.”

Patrick held back a laugh. “He's a big boy. Roll down the windows.”

Dean sighed in relief. “Fine, works for me. Let's just get inside where there's some damn AC.” He caught the smile Patrick was giving him while twirling the toothpick around with his tongue. “I'm just gonna say it once. You try and pull some shit on me and I'll dump a clip of lead in you just 'cause I can. I don't give a crap if it won't kill you.”

Patrick's smile spread as far as his face allowed. “What's the matter, Dean? Don't trust me?”

Dean's eyes narrowed. “Not any farther than I can throw your ass.”

~

Dean groaned when they went down to the basement to play the game. Apparently the air conditioning didn't reach in the big room. The waitress from the pub above them had been gracious enough to give them a pitcher of ice water and two glasses after Dean flirted with her. Now situated in the chair and feeling himself start sweating, he wondered if he should've asked for a second container of the cold liquid.

He started to shed his button-down shirt when he heard Patrick laugh lightly from across the table. He froze and glared at the he-witch. “Laugh it up now, chuckles. It's gonna hit you any minute now and you're gonna be wishing you weren't wearing all those layers.”

Patrick shook his head. “You just don't seem to get it, Deanny boy.”

Dean leaned back and rested his palm over his gun in his pocket. “Then why don't you tell me what I'm not getting then.”

He leaned forward, staring at Dean. “It's March and we're not having some kind of mysterious heatwave.”

Dean finally started to catch on. “So, me sweating like a whore in church and that look the waitress gave me when I asked for her to stop making the place so hot with her good looks...”

Patrick took the toothpick out of his mouth and punctuated his words with it. “It's the curse that's on ya, buddy boy.”

Dean pulled his hands into fists. “Instead of fixing this, you're gonna let me die from heat stroke while playing a game of poker?”

Patrick full out laughed. “It's not like you don't have a big jug of water right here and you can always remove a some of your clothes if you need to cool off.”

Dean composed himself and sent the witch a cocky grin. “So we're basically playing a twisted version of strip poker? You're one sick son of a bitch, you know that?”

Patrick sent a similar grin back at Dean. “Don't flatter yourself, Winchester. I'm just curious about you.”

“Curious? If you wanted to know boxers or briefs, you could just ask, you know.”

Patrick wasn't phased by Dean's incessant need to make jokes. “Your brother bested me when the stakes were high. I want to see how you play under...” he watched Dean finish taking off the button-down and wipe his forehead with it. “...stressful situations.” When Dean swallowed hard, Patrick's eyebrow teaked up for a moment with intrigue. “So let's see how good you are at cards when you're slowly burnin' up from the inside, shall we?”

Dean played the first few hands well. He was trying to prove something to his opponent. He was a Winchester. He didn't freak out under pressure. That was when he was at his best. He and his family stopped the apocalypse when the prize fighters were in the ring for Christ's sake.

Then he started to panic. He realized that he'd sweat straight through his second shirt. It was so damn wet, it clung to him like a second set of skin when he pulled at it. Patrick chuckled and Dean gave him a death glare in return. That only seemed to make the witch more smug when he laid down his three of a kind, beating out Dean's two pair.

Dean kicked the leg of the table. “Shit!”

“What's the matter Dean? Losing your focus?” The amusement came through his voice loud and clear.

Dean reached for the top layer of clothing that he'd already taken off. He twisted the shirt and put it around his head like a makeshift headband. He ignored Patrick's snickering to the best of his ability when he grabbed the pitcher of ice water and poured half of it over his head and on his already soaked shirt. Feeling ten times better, he looked across the table and slammed his sweaty palm on the tabletop. “Shut up and deal.”

A quick cackle left Patrick's mouth. “I'd be more than happy to. It looks like the girls are happy, too.”

Dean looked down at where Patrick was point. His nipples were hard and saying hello to the world. He put his hands over them and rubbed, trying to warm them but gave up when Patrick almost fell out of his chair in laughter. “Whatever, dude. Just stop slowing the game down. I'd like to have some shred of clothes on by the time we play the next hand.”

Patrick grabbed the deck and grinned down at the cards while shuffling and passing them out. “Yeah, I'm sure you would.”

The next set of hands all go to Patrick. The room was silent during most of it. Dean was too busy focusing on not melting to really notice that Patrick was watching his every movement. He finally gave in and took the shirt off of his head. When he finally looked up and found the poker player's eyes on his, he felt a little uncomfortable. That's what he called the feeling, anyway.

Nothing seemed to cool him down anymore. They'd even taken a break so he could go grab three more pitchers of water. He almost instantly dumped one over himself when they got back down to the basement. It felt good for a total of thirty seconds. He broke his eye contact with Patrick and looked over at another pitcher. Instead of wasting the resources, Dean cursed under his breath, grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off. It made a strangely erotic suck and pop noise when it let go of his skin.

He looked back over at Patrick. The man hadn't even moved, let alone took his eyes off of Dean. He just stared and stated. “Waiting on you, buddy boy.”

“Oh, right.” Dean felt a little embarrassed and even a bit insecure with all the flesh he was showing. He looked down at his cards then at the pot before throwing two chips in. “Call.”

Patrick nodded, his gaze still on Dean as he put down his 6 of clubs and 9 of diamonds. It matched with the 7, 8 and 10 of spades on the table. Dean huffed in response. Patrick finally looked away as he pulled a hand forward to collect his chips.

That was before Dean's slippery hand stopped him. They locked eyes again, Patrick's dark brown eyes questioning Dean's green ones. Neither moved their hand away eventhough the sweat from Dean's was rolling down and slowly dampening the cuff of Patrick's long-sleeved shirt. Dean grabbed his cards with a free hand and slid them next to the community cards. His Jack and 2 of spades made a flush, trumping Patrick's straight.

“Congratulations.” Patrick's voice was now a bit lower and raspy. “Now you mind lettin' me go, Dean?”

Dean's hand slid off of his and gathered his chips. He looked back up at his opponent. He was putting more of his attention into shuffling the cards Dean was sure was necessary. He started to deduce that Dean losing his articles of clothing was bothering more than one person in the room. It was an interesting thought. He'd remembered when he and Patrick first met, he was trying to placate Dean, assuming that he'd slept with his girlfriend, wife, sister or mother.

He was probably the only person in the world Dean knew that had experienced more sex than him. He had the benefit of being thirty times older but that was beside the point. Patrick had been interested in Sam, too. He hadn't thought of it in that way since he girlfriend Lia was still around. When Dean tried to casually ask about where the other witch had gone, Patrick shifted in his seat and forced a change in topic.

It was a theory. If he was right, Dean could use it in his favor to win it all before he died from heat stroke.

Dean bent over in the chair and started undoing his boots while Patrick was dealing the cards. When he slid his pants off, he didn't look up but there was a distinct pause before the sound of cards sliding across the green felt top continued. After managing to wrestle the pant legs away from his skin, he picked up his cards and glanced across the table. Patrick's eyes were busy skirting back and forth between the two cards in his hand. “Blinds.” The Irishman barked out the order and put his chips down, making sure not to move it too close to the other side of the table.

Dean was still burning up on the inside but he was exaggerating how much it was really affecting him with melodramatic fanning and the occassional grunting when wiping away his sweat. When Patrick “burned” a card and put down the turn, Dean knew it was then or never. He grabbed the waistband of his boxerbriefs and slid them off in one motion. Patrick snorted but didn't look at him directly.

The next card was burned and the final card of the round was put down. Dean looked at what he had in his possession, smiled wide and pushed all of his chips forward. “All in.”

Patrick quirked an eyebrow, looked between the cards on the table, the two in front of him and all the chips on the table. “You're not half bad, Dean Winchester. Not as good of a player as your brother or I for that matter, but you're decent.” He slid all of his chips forward to the center as well. “But that's a stupid and desperate move if I've ever seen one.”

Dean ignored the comment and flipped his cards over. The pair of 7's he held made a three of a kind. Patrick looked down at what was in front of him in silence, slowly clenching his fist. He looked over at the smug expression on Dean's face and sighed. “And here I was thinkin' that I was the one holding you by the jewels. Well played, Dean.”

Patrick stood up immediately and walked behind him. Dean was about to turn and see what he was doing but the he-witch's hands landed on his body and he closed his eyes and gasped instead. Because of the curse, his hands felt cold. “Hey!” He meant for it to sound commanding. It didn't. His throat was too dry to really support it. Dean just kept telling himself it was from being too hot, not from the guy's touch. “Watch where you put those things, will ya?”

Patrick put one hand over the the tattoo on Dean's chest and another on the back of his neck. Both of their eyes closed as Patrick bent down and started whispering words into his ear. Dean knew they weren't in English but he doubted he'd actually hear what was being said even if it was. His mind was swimming under the cold touch.

The hand on the back of Dean's neck moved away. Dean's body instinctively leaned back, trying to find it again. It was gone but he didn't get much time to process that. A gallon of ice cold liquid was dumped over his head.

Dean jumped out of the seat and almost knocked over the table. The water snapped him back into rational thinking. “The fuck was that for?”

Patrick was grinning. “Looked like ya could use a cold shower.” Dean looked down to see what Patrick was talking about. Though his body was quickly cooling down to a regular temperature, heat was rising into his face as he blushed. Patrick pivoted on his feet, adjusting his now wet sleeve and heading for the door. “You're welcome. Tell your brother I said the same.”

Dean heard him but he was too busy scrambling to put his clothes back on to do more than grunt. When he had his pants back on, he moved the table over so he could grab his boots. Two cards fell to the floor. He leaned over and picked them up. They were Patrick's hand. The man had a 10 and 7 of his own. He had a full house but folded anyway.

Dean threw the cards back on the floor and continued getting dressed. He'd never understood witches and Patrick was probably the most confusing out of all of them.

**Author's Note:**

> http://chainthatbinds.livejournal.com/


End file.
